California Caress (7 page)

Forcing a charming smile to her lips, she chose to ignore the man’s disgraceful lack of courtesy. Keeping a strained note from the husky timbre of her voice was not as easily managed. “It would seem we’ve gotten off to a bad start, Mister Frazier. Shall we begin again?” With one hand behind her back, balled into a tight fist, she extended the other for a handshake.

He turned slowly, sparing the open palm a brief glance before concentrating on pouring himself another drink. That was progress, she though. At least now he was
looking
at her.

Drinking half the liquor, his gaze captured hers from over the rim of the glass. “Convince me of what?”

“Of fighting the Swedes on Saturday,” she replied frankly, dropping her hand to her side. Her offer of friendship had been flatly refused. She resorted to bluntness, deciding intuitively it would be the best course of action when it came to handling a man like Drake Frazier.

Drake looked at Hope as though she were insane. Frowning, he tossed down the rest of his drink like it was water. “Why the hell would I do a thing like that?”

“Because I am willing to pay you generously for your—er—time.”

She couldn’t put her finger on it, but in some vague, indefinable way, his manner toward her had changed. She wasn’t sure what had brought the change about, or why, but it was definitely there. His guard dropped, his previous suspicion of her melted like snow under a hot sun once he discovered her reason for sneaking into his room. Or was the change only a trick of her imagination? She wasn’t sure.

One blond eyebrow cocked as Frazier regarded her with a lazy smile. “How much?”

“Fifty dollars,” she said, trying to hide her disgust for a man who could be bought so easily. Frazier only chuckled and turned back to the window.
So much for being easily bought,
she thought. “Seventy-five?” he seemed not to hear her. “All right,” she sighed, taking a long deep breath, “one hundred. But that’s my final offer.”

“Then take your money and buy someone else to fight in your pal’s place. I’m not interested.”

Her jaw hardened. “What do you mean you’re not interested? I just offered you—”

“Less than I could make in one hand of poker,” he cut her short. “What else have you got?”

“Else?” God, but she hated the way her voice squeaked that way.
Get a grip, Hope. Luke’s life depends on it!
“What—” She stammered, clearing her throat. “What do you mean?”

He pulled his gaze from the window and let it trail slowly down her body. He assessed her in much the same way a man would contemplate a horse he was thinking of buying off the block. At any minute she expected him to ask her to open her mouth so he could inspect her teeth, or—swallowed hard—worse.

“I mean,” he said as his gaze ascended at a more leisurely rate, “that you’ll have to sweeten the pot substantially if you want me to even consider it.”

Scowling, she leaned back against the door. Her whole body felt weak. “I can’t,” she said flatly, her fingers nervously picking at the coarse wool of her cloak, plucking off an imaginary speck of lint. “It’s all we have.”

“We?” he asked, his voice a soft, sweet caress. Again she felt his suspicion perk. “Who, exactly, is we?”

Why had the timbre of his voice suddenly changed from harsh and demanding to calm and cajoling? And did it matter? She had a feeling that, yes, it did matter. Everything about this man mattered a great deal. She just wasn’t sure why.

She sucked in a deep breath. “My father, my brother, and myself.” She purposely made no mention of the rest of their little entourage. It would only complicate matters and warrant a fuller explanation. “We spent most of our savings on supplies. One hundred dollars is all we have left.”

Drake nodded as he refilled his glass, then pushed himself away from the window. He approached her slowly, the way a leopard would its prey, and, to Hope’s surprise, he offered the glass to her. She looked at the offering suspiciously, but made no move to take it.

“Go ahead,” he insisted, pushing it into her suddenly limp hand. “I liked you better when you were drunk. You made more sense.”

She sent him a nasty glare. She had no choice but to accept the glass, but she
did
have a choice about drinking the foul-smelling contents. She took a small sip, only to be polite. Drunk was the last thing she needed to be right now. Instinct told Hope she was going to need all her senses intact to match wits with this fellow.

But was matching wits
all
Drake Frazier had in mind?
she wondered as he lifted the bottle in a silent toast. That thought alone was powerful enough to spur her into taking another drink, this one longer, as she watched him raise the neck of the bottle to his lips. Unlike the whiskey, the gin tasted bitter as it cut a path down her throat. The two did not mix well in her stomach. Still, there was no denying the nice, warm, tingling after-effects. If nothing else, the liquor would help loosen her tongue.

“What if I said I didn’t want your money?” he asked, as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, then set the bottle on the floor. “What if I said I wanted something else?”

“What else is there?” she countered with mock innocence. Her index finger trailed a nervous path around the rim of the glass. Knowing his lips had just touched the same smooth surface only seconds before did nothing to ease her tension.

A crooked smile played over his lips as his gaze resumed its bold exploration of her body. “Take a guess.”

The insinuation was clear enough, and she could feel the hint of a blush kissing her cheeks. Her skin felt as though his fingers were trailing hotly over her flesh instead of just his gaze. That the feeling
should
have bothered her, and
didn’t
, was more than a little unnerving.

“Money is the only thing being offered here, gunslinger,” she said, deciding it might be better to take her business elsewhere. With one hundred dollars, maybe she could buy someone else to fight in her brother’s place. Not likely, but possible.

She pushed the half-empty glass at his chest. Her head, a little lighter for the gin, was filled with every intention of leaving.

It had been a mistake, offering him back the glass, but one she didn’t realize until it was too late. His thick fingers wrapped around her hand as he reached for it, capturing the hand to his chest, glass and all. The touch was warm, electrifying. It shot through her body with an intensity she would never have thought possible. She tried to pull back, mentally as well as physically, from the feel of his warm skin beneath her knuckles, but his grip held fast. The pelt of curling hair on his chest, something she had been trying desperately to ignore, tickled the back of her hand. The sensations the touch aroused in her were shocking, exciting, and better left unexplored.

“I want more than just your money,” he said softly. His warm breath fanned her upturned face and smelled faintly of tobacco and gin. The scent mixed much too nicely with the aroma of freshly milled soap that clung to his sun-gold skin. He'd bathed recently. “If I’m going to risk my neck, I damn well want to be sure the payment will be worth my while.”

“I’ve already offered you—”

“Not nearly enough. Do you have any idea what could happen to me if I turned up to fight Saturday?”

“Yes,” she said, gasping when the roughened tip of his index finger traced the delicate line of her jaw. “I—I know what will happen. The Swedes will be furious my brother won’t be fighting. The easy win they’d planned won’t be so easy after all.” She pulled her head back. It was difficult trying to concentrate with the feel of his chest beneath her hand—and it was damn near impossible to think with his finger trailing freely over the lines of her face! “If they lose, by the camp’s bylaws, the Swedes will be driven off our claim and forced to stake another somewhere else; one that might not show as much promise.” Sighing, she tried to pull her hand away. His grip held firm and she didn’t try again.

“If they lose, they are going to want revenge.”

“I won’t lie to you, Mr. Frazier. They’re a hot-tempered lot of men, even if they aren’t too bright. Yes, if they lose, they’ll be thirsty for justice. And not just against us. They’ll come here first. In their eyes,
you’ll
be the one who robbed them of a potentially rich claim by stepping in for Luke.” She shouldn’t care about what would happen to Drake Frazier once the Swedes got hold of him. Shouldn’t, but did. Much to her confusion and dismay, she found that not all of her misplaced concern could be attributed to the mixture of whiskey and gin.

She nibbled on her bottom lip, completely unaware of how provocative the gesture appeared. “I haven’t got anything else to offer,” she whispered hoarsely. The second the words were out, she wished he could take them back. Damn, but it was hard to concentrate with the feel of his heart drumming right beneath her knuckles.

“Don’t you?” Again his free hand rose, this time to cup her chin. The feel of his calloused fingers against her skin sent an entirely new shiver of delight coursing through her. “Think again, Sunshine. Even beneath that ugly cloak of yours, a blind man could see that you have one hell of a lot to offer a man.”

Her large brown eyes widened. “Mr. Frazier, certainly you aren’t suggesting....” His wicked grin told her that, yes, that was exactly what he was suggesting. She shook her head. “Oh, no. If you think I’m going to...” her words faded away, and she would have shaken her head to emphasize the protest had his hand not been holding her chin so firmly.

“Why not?” His gaze lingered on her softly parted lips. “Don’t I appeal to you?” Her cheeks grew hot with a blush. This sight made his grin broaden. “Or would you rather have your brother go up against one of the Swedes? Funny, but I could have sworn you came here tonight to avoid that.”

“I did,” she answered miserably, then sighed in frustration. Oh what the hell, she might as well tell him the truth. He had probably already guessed it anyway. “Luke can’t fight them. He isn’t—he isn’t right.” The index finger of her free hand tapped her temple. “He’s big. He has the strength to win, yes. He just doesn’t have the intelligence to back it up. There was an accident when we were kids.... Look, the reason doesn’t matter. What
does
is that that they’d make mincemeat out of him in less than a minute. I can’t let that happen. He’s my brother, for God’s sake!”

“So you’d rather see them make mincemeat out of me instead, is that it?”

“Yes—
no
!” She clenched her teeth and glared at him angrily. “Will you please let me go so I can think straight?”

“No.”

“You aren’t making this very easy, Mr. Frazier.”

“That’s your problem,” he breathed as his thumb returned to caress the delicate line of her jaw. “And call me Drake. After all, we
are
going to be—ahem—
friends.
”

“We aren’t going to be
anything
,” she insisted, trying to pull herself free. “And I’ll be calling you a lot worse if you don’t let me go.” Her voice was rising in near panic, but she could no more control that than she could the frantic pounding of her heart as his fingertips brushed the corner of her mouth. She stiffened. “If you’re trying to intimidate me, I might as well warn you it won’t work.”

But it is working,
her mind screamed.
And it’s working too damn well!

Drake ignored her as he slipped the glass from her hand. Where it went, Hope didn’t know. Her senses were spinning out of control. She felt his body shift, leaving her for the barest of seconds. The next thing she knew his chest was pinning her against the door. It was more than the pressure of his body that made her suddenly gasp for air, although she would rather have died than admit it.

In a feeble attempt to free herself, she wedged her hands between their chests, trying to push his away. What a pitiful struggle
that
turned out to be! Her knees turned to jelly at the feel of his bare flesh beneath her splayed palms, and it was by willpower alone that she was able to keep herself from melting into the warm, solid length of Drake Frazier’s body.

“Two hundred dollars?” she asked breathlessly. Her voice was nothing more than a throaty whisper as his lips captured her earlobe.

“You don’t have that much,” he reminded her softly. His breath was like a hot desert wind in her ear.

“I’ll get it somewhere,” she promised as she pushed at his shoulders.

He shook his head. “Sorry, not enough.”

“Three?” she asked weakly. The flick of his tongue, moist and warm, teased the inner recesses of her ear. It was almost more than she could bear. “I have two pieces of gold that are worth—”

“If I wanted your gold I would have taken it when I stole your bullets. Think of something else.”

Why was she letting him do this to her? Why was she allowing him to awaken a passion inside her that she could never hope to quench? It was cruel, this sensual teasing; spiteful and cruel. His tender ministrations were stoking a desire in her that she had, long ago, learned she could never have. But, of course, Frazier had no way of knowing the truth.

“Damn it, Frazier, stop that!” she cried when his lips trailed a hot path down the sensitive taper of her neck.

Drake pulled his head up and sent her a look that pierced her to the core. “Why?” he asked dryly. “You wanted to buy me, didn’t you? I’m naming my price. I think it’s a pretty fair one, considering what you’re asking me to risk.”

“Name another one,” she insisted breathlessly. “One that I can meet.”

Although he doubted she was aware of it, the girl’s eyes were round with an odd mixture of desperation and fear. Even a fool could see that the terror shimmering in that tearful gaze was genuine, and Drake Frazier was no fool. Reluctantly, he pushed her away.

Hope took a ragged gulp of air and leaned heavily against the door, all the while wondering why her body suddenly felt cold in the spots his hands had warmed.

“That,” he said as he retrieved the bottle and glass, “is my price. Meet it or not, it doesn’t matter to me.”